Venetia tried again ten minutes later, and when she received no answer from either numbers, she rang the office.
‘I’m so sorry, signorina, but Signor Ugo was taken ill this morning as he was getting out of his car at the office,’ Sabina, Giovanna’s assistant, told her. ‘They called an ambulance and he was rushed to hospital – I think he may have had a heart attack. I informed la Signora Lombardi as soon as I heard about it, and she went immediately to the ospedale.’
Venetia tried to stem the rising panic in her throat, but she had to be practical and so she kept her voice calm. ‘Do you know which hospital? Do you have the number? And the room number too, please?’
Having obtained the information she needed, she set about getting in touch with her godmother. The switchboard at the Ospedale dell’Angelo tried their best to be helpful, but it was no straightforward matter. It was likely he would have been rushed into intensive care, she was told, but they could not be sure, and it was unlikely they’d be able to track the patient down quickly. There was no way of knowing if she could get in touch with Giovanna before the afternoon, or even the night, and so much could happen between now and then. Ugo was Giovanna’s whole life; already she had gone through the trauma of losing her first husband while still in her early forties. Venetia could just imagine how harrowing this experience was for her darling Zia, while she was living it up in Sardinia and would be for the next week.
Venetia heard Paolo come out of the bathroom. He called to her from the bedroom, ‘The bathroom’s clear, cara. All yours.’
But she didn’t answer, the line of her jaw tense. She felt wretched, torn between a sense of duty towards her godmother and her reluctance to spoil Paolo’s holiday, which he had gone to such pains to organise.
Paolo found her in the sitting room. He was almost naked, with a narrow brief covering him, his virility only the more appealing with that edge of mystery; and despite having her mind on other things, Venetia couldn’t help the instinctive arousal that stirred her body at this view. Built like an athlete, he was so tall and broad that he almost dwarfed the furniture in the room, not only with his bulk but with his personality. No wonder he had made short work of Umberto and his bodyguard.
Seeing her expression, he frowned. ‘Sembri preoccupata, cara, you seem worried. Was Signora Lombardi not happy with your announcement of our engagement?’
‘No, no, not at all,’ Venetia reassured him. ‘I haven’t been able to reach Zia. Ugo, her husband, was taken ill outside the office this morning and was rushed to hospital. They think he’s had a heart attack.’
‘Dio mio.’ In two strides he was beside her, his hands on her shoulders. ‘Cara, you mustn’t worry. We’ll leave immediately for Venice. I’ll take care of the arrangements and we’ll be there before tonight, I promise.’
‘But Paolo, this will spoil the whole week… all the trouble you’ve taken to organise this wonderful holiday, and…’
‘There’ll be time enough for that,’ he said, ignoring her protests. ‘I think there’s a plane from Alghero that leaves for Pisa at midday. We can then drive to Venice. My car is already at Galileo Galilei.’
‘I’m not going to have you drive all the way to Venice. I’ll fly.’
He cocked his head to one side. ‘You think that I will let you go alone to Venice to face una tragedia indescrivibile? What sort of a man do you think I am, eh?’
He made her feel so soothed and protected, and so much stronger just by his presence. Venetia smiled, trailing her fingers over the scarred skin of his powerful chest. ‘I think you’re the most wonderful man in the world, and I love you.’
Paolo closed his eyes, unmoving, and she felt him shudder under her touch.
‘Don’t do that, cara,’ he breathed, clasping her hand and gently pushing it away. ‘There’s a limit to a man’s willpower. If you continue down that road, I doubt we’ll be in Venice even in a month’s time.’
Venetia moved away a little. He stood there watching her. Looking at him standing, half-naked, his gaze so intense, it was as much as she could do not to test his willpower. His deep blue irises were stroking each of her features, tracing them as graphically as if it were his lips that were making that journey. She smiled impishly. ‘And I promise, Paolo, that I’ll make it up to you.’
* * *
They arrived in Venice late afternoon and went straight to Ospedale dell’Angelo. Throughout the whole journey from Sardinia, Venetia had tried to call her godmother but, without a room number for Ugo, the switchboard employee could not be of any help, and she still hadn’t been able to get through to Giovanna on her mobile. Feeling deeply embarrassed and guilty for having ruined Paolo’s plans, nevertheless she strived to appear calm, almost phlegmatic, even though she was intensely worried. She tried to persuade him to leave after he had dropped her off at the hospital, but Paolo flatly refused to go before she had met up with Giovanna.
‘Non posso andarmene prima di aver trovato la Signora Lombardi, I can’t leave before we’ve found la Signora Lombardi.’
‘Oh, Paolo, you’ve put yourself out enough for me today… You’ve had no sleep, you drove all day yesterday. You must be so tired.’
‘Don’t argue, cara, I’ve told you before I’m never tired when I’m with you – I’d feel far more anxious if I left now and didn’t know how things were. I promise that when we find Signora Lombardi I’ll not intrude, and if I’m not needed I’ll go, all right?’
They were lucky to find a parking place in the very restricted car park of the hospital. Having been given hardly any information for an hour, they finally learnt from one of the doctors that Signor Ugo Lombardi was in intensive care. He’d had a heart attack, but the situation was now under control and he was out of danger. However, they wanted to keep him in intensive care for twenty-four hours to be on the safe side. La Signora had been asked to go home, as there was nothing she could do at this stage and Signor Lombardi would hopefully be out in a couple of days. Having seen the test results, the doctors realised that his condition seemed to be less serious than they had originally thought.
Venetia was relieved. She hated the smell and the feel of hospitals and, besides, she had the impression that Paolo shared her aversion. Although he didn’t say anything, he was subdued while she spoke to the doctors and, noting the shades of pain that clouded his eyes, she sensed that a sort of malaise had overcome him. He was probably reliving the time he’d spent in hospital after the accident, she told herself. And yet the degree of his restlessness the longer they stayed surprised her.
They spoke little on the way out of the hospital, or on the drive through the centre of town, heading for Giovanna’s penthouse.
Paolo parked the car at the municipal car park at Piazza le Roma in Santa Croce and they picked up his launch at the Venice Marittima Port, a stone’s throw away.
‘I’ll wait for you at Fritelli. Meet me there when you’ve finished with your godmother and we can have dinner,’ he told Venetia when they finally arrived at the pier of Piazza San Marco.
‘You might as well come with me, Paolo, and we can announce our engagement to Zia. It’ll help cheer her up.’
‘Are you sure I won’t be intruding?’ He looked at her warily.
She nodded. ‘Quite sure – Zia will be delighted about the news. If she hasn’t had dinner, we can take her to Fritelli together.’
When they arrived at Bella Vista and enquired at the security desk if Signora Lombardi was at home, the friendly porter told them that she had arrived an hour ago and that as far as he knew, she had not come down again. They were taken up in the lift by a smart bellboy dressed in a black and green uniform – Venetia had always liked this little touch of ceremony, of the kind you would find at a hotel or a smart department store. It was so like charming, old-fashioned Ugo to give his building this element of luxury; a little pompous perhaps but it had a lot of panache.
&nbs
p; Giovanna Lombardi was surprised but relieved to see her goddaughter. ‘I’m so glad you’ve come,’ she said, ushering her and Paolo into the apartment and sitting them down on one of her sumptuous sofas. ‘Just as I was about to call you from the hospital, my stupid mobile gave up on me and I had no way of contacting you. It’s been horrible – I really thought Ugo was at death’s door. Grazie a Dio, the doctors have said he’s now out of danger. It was only a mild attack and he’ll be back to normal in a couple of weeks.’
She was delighted when Venetia told her of the engagement. ‘Isn’t it rather sudden?’ she enquired in a low voice, once Paolo had gone out into the hall to ring the restaurant. Giovanna looked at her goddaughter with a twinkle in her eye. ‘After all, I thought you didn’t particularly like the man. If I remember rightly, I had to twist your arm to take the assignment and that was only a few days ago.’
Venetia smiled ruefully, recalling how difficult she had made things at the beginning. ‘I think we fell in love almost from the first minute we met, but I was still haunted by my experience with Judd.’
‘Have you told him about all that?’
‘Yes.’
‘And the loss of your baby?’
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘And nothing – he listened and we moved on.’
Giovanna looked surprised. ‘He’s rather broadminded for an Italian.’
‘He’s a widower himself.’
‘Oh… I see… Actually, it could be a marriage made in heaven – you’ve both suffered a great loss.’ Giovanna patted her goddaughter’s hand gently.
‘Yes, I honestly think we’re made for each other.’
‘If that’s the case, then it’s a wonderful thing. You look well, and happier than I’ve seen you for years. Oh, the radiance of love!’ Giovanna smiled and kissed her affectionately. The words were light but Venetia caught some undercurrent beneath them and her godmother’s eyes looked faintly anxious as she added, ‘Perhaps you’ll be the one to tame him. Anyhow, there’s no rush for the wedding – that’s what the engagement period is for.’
Venetia was wondering what reply to make to this when the door opened.
‘I’ve reserved us a table at Rigoletto,’ Paolo announced, coming back into the room.
‘Oh, Paolo, isn’t that a little over the top?’ Venetia’s sleek eyebrows shot up. Rigoletto was reputed to have the best dining room in Venice and it was very expensive. It had been around for more than six decades and unlike many fad restaurants that appeared and disappeared within a short period, Rigoletto had kept its impeccable high standards over the years, renovating its menus to reflect modern times while the décor was kept unchanged to reflect the nostalgic atmosphere of yesteryear.
‘We’re celebrating two events, Venetia. First, the reassuring news that Signor Lombardi’s condition is not serious, and secondly, that you have granted me the honour of agreeing to be my wife.’ Paolo lifted Venetia’s hand to his lips, giving a secret smile against her fingers and gazing adoringly into her eyes.
* * *
They walked to the restaurant. The evening was mild, but Venice was crowded; tourists had started to pour in for Easter. Gondolas with lanterns passed to and fro along the Canal. The dome of the Church of Santa Maria della Salute was in sharp silhouette against the evening sky, a deep blue vault above them where countless stars were shining brilliantly. Lights gleamed from the waterside and shone on the colourfully striped, gilt-topped poles that marked the landing stages outside large buildings and hotels. Their reflections bobbed up and down on the water, a poem of black and silver in the moonlight. Happy voices sounded lightly in the air. Someone was singing to the accompaniment of a guitar and behind some pinnacled historic monument the big moon rose in glorious splendour in the navy heavens.
They had almost reached the restaurant when Venetia, who was walking while gazing upwards trying to recognise some of the stars in the sky, collided with a man who was coming up the pavement in the opposite direction.
‘Scusa, I’m so sorry,’ she said, without looking at the person she had just banged into.
‘Venetia… Venetia Aston-Montagu?’
Venetia looked up at the man addressing her. In the light of the street lamp, the face looked familiar. In his late fifties, he was tall and barrel-chested, and though wearing faded jeans and a discoloured T-shirt, he was a distinguished-looking man, with receding blond hair that was greying at the temples. She hesitated, and then remembered: Mr Riley. Robert Riley, a friend of her father’s.
‘Mr Riley, am I right?’ she asked with a smile.
‘Yes, that’s me. How are you, Venetia?’ The man shook her hand, peering at her intently. ‘It’s been a long time. I see your father quite often at the club, and at our bridge nights. He told me you were living now in romantic Venice.’
‘Yes, I love it here. How is Daddy? He’s not very talkative when I ring.’ She felt suddenly embarrassed by her father’s apparent lack of interest and added: ‘He’s always had an aversion to the phone.’
‘He’s very well, actually. Getting on a little, of course, like the rest of us.’ Robert Riley laughed. ‘He’s had to stop the wine and the good living – a few attacks of gout.’
Venetia’s brows lifted. ‘I didn’t know – he never told me. He always says he’s fine and never talks about his health. I only get to visit him once a year, at Easter, and I always assume he’s well… But how rude of me, I haven’t introduced you to my godmother, Giovanna Lombardi.’
‘Yes, your godmother – we met years ago. Signora Lombardi, a pleasure once again,’ the man said, taking the hand Giovanna had just extended to him.
‘And this is Signor Barone. Paolo and I have become engaged literally this morning and we’re out to celebrate. I haven’t yet told Daddy, but I will first thing tomorrow.’
Robert Riley turned to Paolo, but did not offer his hand. ‘Congratulations.’ He nodded politely.
‘Grazie,’ Paolo murmured, hardly looking up.
Venetia glanced at her fiancé. The light fell on his face and she noted how tired he looked, haggard and drawn and showing lines she had never discerned before. ‘I haven’t seen Mr Riley since I left England,’ she explained.
Paolo’s smile was slightly wistful as his gaze travelled from his fiancée to Venetia’s father’s friend. ‘It’s a small world, cara.’
‘Indeed, you never know who you’ll bump into,’ Robert Riley said. ‘Well, it was lovely to see you again, Venetia, after so long.’ His large hand warmly engulfed hers. ‘I’ll leave you to celebrate this happy event.’
‘I remember him,’ Venetia said, turning to her godmother as the man disappeared round the corner. ‘One of Daddy’s stuffy government friends! I didn’t recognise him immediately. It’s been more than ten years and he’s certainly aged. Besides, I’d only ever seen him in a suit – he looked rather underdressed in those shabby jeans. I’d never have thought of meeting him in a romantic city like Venice.’
Giovanna watched Paolo take the lead and move ahead of them, as she leaned towards her goddaughter, lowering her voice.
‘Oh, don’t be fooled, my dear. These undercover MI5 and MI6 types pop up unexpectedly all over the globe. I remember him well. Your mother didn’t like him much – she said he was a bad influence on your father. They’d been friends at Eton and then at Oxford. He read Political Science, like your father, who only briefly worked in intelligence. William abandoned all that to look after the family business when your uncle John died but your father kept in touch with all his friends from his secret agent days, I’m sure of that. Your mother suspected that he actually donated large chunks of money to the organisation. He’s very nationalistic and I think always resented having to leave his career in intelligence.’
Venetia gave a sigh and shook her head sadly. This was one of the few times she had discussed her father with Giov
anna, not wishing to remind herself of her unhappy family life before she’d come to live in Venice.
‘I never knew that, but then again, I always avoided thinking about what he did, and he never talked about his work. I doubt Mother was aware of what he was up to half the time. Besides, as you know, Daddy and I didn’t get on. He took no interest in what I wanted to do with my life, always dictating, always making me feel that I didn’t live up to his expectations, so I gradually moved away from him. I think that secretly he wished he’d had a son.’
Giovanna nodded, signalling towards Paolo who was still walking ahead of the two women. ‘Well, let’s not rehash all that now,’ she told Venetia in a hushed tone. ‘Tonight we’re celebrating a happy event and you mustn’t let any dark thoughts mar the occasion.’
Arriving at the grand Baroque entrance of Rigoletto, the maître d’hôtel gave them a choice of two tables. They could either sit inside in the formal Italian marble dining room, dimly lit with its raspberry raw-silk curtains, leather dining chairs and walls decorated with paintings by Amedeo Modigliani, who had been a close friend of the owners; or more informally, outside in the garden where the tables were set among flowers. The riotous blooms were everywhere; not only in the ground, but growing in baskets hanging from the branches of trees, or arranged in large Etruscan vases in odd corners of the lawn, which though small and compact, like the few green spaces within the city, would have seemed bare without those colourful floral arrangements.
They chose the second option and sat in candlelight beneath a silver birch tree next to a warbling fountain. Venetia was drunk with her own intoxicating emotions, which were amplified by the beauty of the surroundings. Music vibrated in the scented atmosphere, and the rhythmic beat of its drums found an answering throb in the young woman’s heart.
The Echoes of Love Page 35